


Built Upon the Water's Edge

by Minxie



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Challenge Response, KINK: power exchange, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-08
Updated: 2010-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Adam is Adam, Tommy is stubborn, and together they redefine things like relationships and authority. And there's some showering too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Built Upon the Water's Edge

**Author's Note:**

> In response to [this](http://community.livejournal.com/glam_kink/664.html?thread=25240#t25240) prompt from LJ's [janescott](http://janescott.livejournal.com/). Don't know if this hits the mark you wanted, but this is where they led me. Stubborn, fuckers. And, yeah, this is a slow build in my usual static style… jsyk going in.
> 
> Massive ILU's to Red and SunShinyDay for the beta read.

Whoever said time slows down in emergencies is a fucking liar. Because, one minute Adam is bitching about Tommy being late to movie night and then the next, in what feels like the space of fucking seconds, he's pushing past the hotel manager and rushing into the bathroom and, _Jesus fucking Christ_, there's blood and water and Tommy is so goddamn still.

Adam hears the manager say something about ambulances and head wounds and all Adam can do is shout – _whimper_ – "Motherfuck…"

And he really wants to know just where the goddamn hell Neil is because _he_ was the fucking Boy Scout and why the fuck isn't anyone turning off the shower? Because now he's just as wet as Tommy and, _goddammit_, Tommy is cool to the touch and body heat won't work with all these clothes in the way.

The bathroom is suddenly crowded and people are pulling Adam away from Tommy, and trying to keep him out of the ambulance, and there are a fuck ton flashes of white and Adam can't really care if it's the turn of the emergency lights or if it's the fucking paps and then, after one snarling _fuck off_, Adam is sliding into the ambulance beside Tommy and, really, can't these people, like, speed or something?

Then Adam is being held back by a nurse or nurses or some-fucking-body and the doors swing closed and shut Adam out, and Lane pushes dry clothes at him, motioning for Monte to lead him to the restroom to change and all Adam really wants to do is follow the yellow line on the floor that goes under the doors that Tommy disappeared behind.

But instead he's stuck here, with Monte and Lane and the whole fucking band and a cup of vending machine tea shaking in his hands. And all Adam can do is wonder if he'd been more vigilant, if he'd maybe made Tommy shower in his room or if he'd followed Tommy to his, if he hadn't waited so fucking long – _twenty goddamn minutes_ – that, maybe, if he'd done any of that, then this wouldn't have happened at all.

And then time stands still.

* ^V^ *

  
Moving from the waiting room to the ER alcove they've put Tommy in does nothing to help dispel the heavy cloak of guilt. It does, however, give Adam something to focus on besides chipping his fingernail polish and glaring everyone the fuck away from him.

Claiming the chair right next to the bed, Adam watches Tommy with a concentration usually reserved for performances, cataloging every twitch and every sigh.

And the instant it looks like Tommy is pulling out of it, his hands clenching tight and then fluttering up to his head, Adam is out of the chair and easing down on the bed beside Tommy.

"Christ," Tommy moans. "How much did we fucking drink last night?"

Monte's snort earns him a glare from Adam.

"No drinking, baby." Adam wraps one hand around Tommy's wrist, while the other combs gently though his hair. "You fell..."

"Yeah. Okay." Tommy, eyes blinking open, nods slowly. "In the shower. I was in the shower and got dizzy."

"If you didn't want to watch a chick flick, a simple fuck off would've done," Monte drawls from his post against the wall.

Tommy grins, a small quirk of lips. "Tryin' that next time, dude. Gotta be better than this headache."

All of the joking is _not_ sitting well with Adam. Not at all. "Not funny. You could've..."

"Hey, it's cool. I'm good." Tommy curls his fingers over the hand clutching his arm. "Well, I will be when LP stops banging around in my head."

Adam tightens his grip on Tommy's arm. "Lane went to get the doctor. We'll let him decide how good you are, okay?"

"Long as he brings the top shelf drugs with him." Then Tommy's eyes slide shut, the true level of his pain obvious to Adam by the tense set of Tommy's jaw.

* ^V^ *

  
"Look, doc, if anything happens, I'll be right back here whether I want to be or not. Please, just let me outta here."

"Unless," Adam says, talking over Tommy, "you think he needs to be here overnight."

He totally ignores the way Tommy is gaping and glaring at him.

"He needs rest."

"We're already booked in a hotel." Adam flashes a small smile at Tommy. "Rest is guaranteed."

"He'll need to be closely monitored." The doctor starts shuffling through the papers in his hands. "He didn't need stitches, but that was a substantial blow to the head."

"The entire crew will help out." Not that Adam plans on letting Tommy of his sight. No way in hell is that happening right now.

With a sigh, the doctor scribbles his signature on the release forms and turns to Tommy. "Bed rest for the next twenty-four hours. You need to eat more often and get more sleep. You are bordering on the edge of exhaustion, Mr. Ratliff."

"Tommy, please. I'm not that old."

"Of course not." The doctor returns Tommy's smile. "But, son, you need to find a way to rest and relax. Take better care of yourself."

Tommy glances over his shoulder, taking in the cluster of people waiting, and then shifts his eyes back to Adam. "They'll make sure."

The doctor hands the sheaf of papers over to Tommy. "_You_ make sure."

"Yeah, okay."

Tommy slides off the edge of the bed and, without too much protest, sits in the wheelchair waiting in front of Adam.

"Tommy..."

Tommy holds his hand up. "Not now, Lane. Really. I just want to find a quiet, dark hole and sleep."

* ^V^ *

  
Adam looks between Tommy and the crowd pushing hard against the stage. "You sure you're ready for this?"

"Doc said _a day_ of bed rest. Been more like two, almost three."

Adam looks at Tommy. His eyes are bright and the dark smudge of exhaustion has faded. But still... "Yeah, but, maybe one more night..."

Rolling his eyes, Tommy smacks Adam lightly on the arm and walks away, tossing a quick, "See you on stage, Lambert," over his shoulder.

"Lay off him, Adam."

Adam jerks around and stares at Monte. "But – "

"Look, I get it. I really do. We're all worried about him."

Adam huffs softly, bites back the snapping retort. Because, worried? That doesn't even begin to cover it.

"But you have got to find a different way to handle this. Tommy is proud; he isn't going to appreciate you stopping him from doing his job. He'll walk first." Monte pins Adam with a hard stare and then grins. "Don't make him walk. I'm not up to breaking in another bass."

"Okay, okay. I hear you." And then Adam forces a smile out. "No chasing off the bassist."

"Yeah, and you might want to try actual talking. I hear it does wonders," and then Monte walks away, smirking.

* ^V^ *

  
Adam steps on the stage with Monte's words still echoing in the background of his thoughts. He intends to let the show roll out like normal. He really does. And the opening medley goes by the book.

Dancing. And teasing. And leanings.

Then it's time for _Fever_ and, Jesus fuck, there's Tommy all soft and pretty and pressing against Adam. Then suddenly Adam flashes to Tommy on the shower floor still and quiet and pale. And the kiss-lick-whatthefuckever gets abandoned for a gentle hand raking through Tommy's hair and a slow slide of lips that will give anyone with a zoom lens a look beyond the fanservice.

The look on Tommy's face – confusion and anger and, hidden in the depths, something that maybe could be called interest – has Adam committing lyrics fail and almost stumbling down the stairs.

* ^V^ *

  
"What the fuck was that about?"

Adam licks his lips to keep from laughing. He totally should have expected this, because Tommy's first line of defense is always to nip and bark like an angry little chihuahua.

"Huh?"

"Changing shit without letting me know. What the fuck was that? We both agreed to dirty and raunchy and..." Tommy's hand flails around, his face an open comedy of _what the fuckery_ "...whatever. But not that. None of that gentle, almost romantic crap that you just pulled."

Adam shrugs. "Figured it was time to change it up. Can't be too predictable in this business."

The actual anger visibly bleeds out of Tommy even as he keeps a wary eye on Adam. And Adam thanks God that he really has fought being predictable. It's a rather convenient escape to have.

Bumping his hip against Tommy, Adam says, "Now, come on. We need to sign and then hit the bus. It's True Blood night, baby."

Tommy shakes his head, an indulgent grin twisting the corners of his mouth. Because, just like one of those pups, if you scratch Tommy just the right way he backs down as fast as he flies off. "Uh, yeah. Just let me grab a quick shower."

"Use mine." Adam hopes it actually comes across as an impromptu idea instead of the plan he's been working on for the past two days. "You can keep me company while I take off my face for the night."

"Okay." The look Tommy gives him tells Adam that he didn't quite manage – _completely missed_ – the nonchalant tone he was aiming for. "Whatever, man."

* ^V^ *

  
The shower thing isn't really obvious to everyone else until hotel night. Then they all notice Adam padding along behind Tommy, talking and laughing quietly. Adam doesn't respond to the raised eyebrows and simply shuts the door to Tommy's room behind him, sliding down to the floor just outside the bathroom, magazine in his hands.

"You don't have to keep doing this, you know?"

Adam ignores Tommy's comment, flips the page in the magazine, and asks, "You gonna go ahead and shower? That creepy movie you want to watch starts in thirty."

Tommy shakes his head. "You're a freak, Lambert."

"Says you," Adam replies, loud enough to be heard through the bathroom door and over the sudden influx of water, "I'm not the one hurrying through a shower to watch some grade B slasher flick."

"Yeah, well, you _are_ the one waiting outside my bathroom door."

Adam laughs softly. Tommy may think it's odd that Adam is doing this, but he hasn't tried to stop him. Which is good all the way around. "Whatever, Tommy Joe. Just hurry your little ass along."

He laughs even harder at Tommy's spluttering retort.

* ^V^ *

  
Adam kicks out with his feet, grazing Tommy's calf with his toe. "I ordered some food."

Tommy looks up from his laptop. "Huh?"

"I said, I ordered some food," Adam repeats, exasperation warring with fondness. "We've got a long trip when we leave here and Lane will stroke if we stop too much."

Tommy shrugs and goes back to trolling through iTunes. "Whatever, man. It's all on your tab anyway."

Adam rolls his eyes. "For you too, idiot. Now, come on, put that away. It should be here in like five minutes."

Tommy looks at Adam, all curious and confused. "You ordered for me, too? What if I'm not hungry?"

Adam cracks up. "When are you not hungry, Tommy Joe?"

Tommy sticks his tongue out at Adam. "It better not be that healthy crap you're always eating."

* ^V^ *

  
Slowly the performances go back to normal. If normal includes a kiss – with tongue, thank you very much – and a fuck of lot more innuendo during Tommy's intro solo. As the show settles around this new dimension, so do Adam and Tommy off-stage. Without the kissing. But at least no one even gives them a second glance anymore when Adam goes into Tommy's hotel room or when Tommy disappears in the back of Adam's bus, coming out later obviously showered and giggling at whatever ridiculous thing Adam has said.

What started as some weird ass thing to reassure himself has turned into something private between them, almost like a quiet haven of secrets and dreams and fears all protected in a shroud of steam. Adam is just thankful that Tommy seems to be as attached to it as Adam is. Because that is totally a conversation that Adam is not ready to have.

Knuckles rap against Adam's door, pulling him from his wandering thoughts, and then, before Adam can say anything, Tommy is slipping into Adam's room on the bus. Nodding to the bag hitched over Tommy's shoulder, Adam asks, "Got everything?"

With a nod, Tommy grins. "Yeah, not much to it, yanno?"

"Still not the place to be caught short."

"There is that." Tommy goes into the bathroom, leaving the door more than half open.

Adam squirms and shifts around on the bed until his head is at the foot and closer to the bathroom door. He listens to the hushed sounds of Tommy moving in the bathroom, undressing and starting the shower, and then he grins when, after the shower door opens and then snicks shut, Tommy's tell-tale moan reverberates through the steam. Pitching his voice to carry, Adam says, "So, we totally kicked ass last night."

"Fuck, yeah." Tommy's voice rises and falls as he moves in the shower. "The crowd was... Man, I thought they were gonna pull your ass off the stage."

"That would have been memorable." Adam winces. Just the thought of getting lost in the crowd, no matter how cool it sounds, is high on his list of do-not-want.

"Epic, sure. But can you even imagine the pile-up when everyone tried to go in after you?" Tommy asks with a snort.

"Don't even." Adam grins though. Because Tommy is right. The image of flailing arms and legs is pretty amusing. "That has clusterfuck stamped all over it."

"Thought you wanted – fuck…" and the room echoes with the sounds of crashing and thumping.

Adam jumps off the bed and rushes into the bathroom, heart slamming against his ribs and mind supplying the worst of scenarios. "Tommy!"

Tommy jumps a little and drops the shampoo bottle in his hand, sending another round of crashing and clanging through the small bathroom. "Fuck, Adam. Scare the shit outta me next time, why don't ya?"

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." And if Adam's breathing is just as static as his words, well, surely Tommy can't hear that over the water spraying out of the shower head. "Thought you fell.... fuck. I'll just..." Adam motions back towards the bedroom with a shaky wave of his hand.

"Sit down, you idiot."

"Huh?"

Tommy opens the shower door and, dripping all over the floor, points to the toilet. "Sit the fuck down. We've had enough drama for one night."

"Yeah, okay," Adam mumbles, still caught on the rollercoaster of frantic adrenaline and ball-busting embarrassment. Because, really, overreact much, Lambert?

The conversation is a little stilted, and Tommy hurries through the rest of his shower, and there has to be something totally psych-ward worthy about Adam, Tommy, and this shower ritual that just seems to keep morphing into _more_. But, when Tommy steps out of the stall, a towel wrapped tight around his waist and water streaming off his hair and down over his shoulders and back, Adam is damned if he can find fault with it.

Then Adam is up and creeping closer, approaching Tommy with slow and careful movements. He reaches out, tugging his towel off the rack, and cants his head towards Tommy's. "Okay?"

The air around them becomes heavy with the unspoken and finally, with a short clipped nod, Tommy says, "Okay."

And Adam gently starts blotting the water pooling on Tommy's skin.

* ^V^ *

  
Sitting on the counter, feet kicking in a restless beat against the cabinet doors, Adam admits that watching Tommy's silhouette through the frosted glass of the shower stall, that this, being in the same room while Tommy showers, is much better than sitting on his bed and listening to – _analyzing_ – every little noise.

"You're not the first, you know?"

Adam frowns, the slight catch in Tommy's voice is screaming _important information, pay fucking attention_. "Not the first what?"

"Guy." And then, "That I've kissed and, well, I haven't done more than that with you, but I've... Well, yeah, not the first."

"Oh. Okay." Not something Adam ever expected Tommy to say, but it does make some things shift into a better perspective. "Really?"

"Yeah." Tommy opens the shower door and peers around the edge, staring at Adam with incredulous eyes. "You thought what? That being around you made my dick so hard I shorted out and just, what? Said, hmmm, Tommy Joe, you've obviously been missing out, maybe your twenty-nine years of straight was wrong so, yeah, just go make out and cuddle with Adam?"

Laughing, Adam shakes his head. "Not when you put it like that."

"Whatever, dude. You so did think that." Tommy shakes his head and darts back into the shower. "Adam Lambert and his Sparkly Magic Dick, making the world gay one boy at a time."

"You're a little bastard, you know that?"

With a sharp flick of his wrist, Tommy sends a sprinkle of water over the shower door. And right onto Adam's face. "Yup, pretty much knew that already."

* ^V^ *

  
Days off are awesome. Two days in a row, especially when Adam doesn't even have an interview scheduled, could almost be considered an orgasmic experience. Of course, it would be better if they were somewhere where they could actually _do_ something, instead of being east of the middle of no-fucking-where.

Lack of a real, honest to fuck nightlife means only one thing: pajama party in Adam's room. And somewhere between Sasha's turn mixing their next round and Terrance's monologue on the addictive evil that is Twitter, Adam tugs at Tommy until Tommy is flat on Adam's bed with his head on Adam's thigh. "Go to sleep, baby."

Tommy wriggles around, curling in on himself, and then, with his nose buried in the juncture of Adam's hip and Adam's hand carding through his hair, his eyes close and he falls to sleep.

"Oh, I see," Terrance murmurs, a knowing look playing in his eyes and, when he looks over to Sasha, a satisfied told-you-so smirk breaking wide open.

"Shut up." Adam flips him off with a grin and then, when Sasha opens her mouth, adds, "Both of you."

When the conversation finally lulls to a stop, he says, "Leave the bathroom light on when you go."

Then Adam worms his way down the bed and wraps himself around Tommy, pulling slowly until Tommy is fitted in the curve of Adam's body.

* ^V^ *

  
Morning comes late in the afternoon and Adam wakes up with Tommy draped along his side, arms and legs twined around him and hot breath ghosting over his chest. It's definitely something he could get used to, wants to get used to. Then there is a shift in Tommy's breathing and Adam knows exactly when Tommy wakes up enough to realize he isn't in bed alone.

"Huh, what the fuck?" Tommy pushes until he's sitting up, one hand scrubbing over his face and into his hair. Then he looks down at Adam. "Why am I in here?"

Adam shrugs. "You fell asleep. I didn't want to wake you up."

Tommy's brows crinkle together. Adam holds back on the urge to giggle and call him adorable.

"You _told_ me to go to sleep." Tommy frowns.

"I did." And he is so not going to apologize for it. Tommy needed rest. That much is apparent by how fast he fell asleep.

"You do realize I'm a real-life grown-up, right?"

"One that I care about." Understatement of the year, but what Adam feels does qualify as caring. "Does it bother you?"

Tommy blushes and looks away. "I just..." and then, sighing, he slowly brings his eyes up to meet Adam's. "Just wish I knew what the fuck was going on between us."

Adam inhales sharply. There it is again. That look of interest from Tommy. A look that, if Tommy used it the right way, would have Adam jumping through fucking hoops for him. The thought doesn't scare Adam as much as he thinks it should.

"Tommy..."

The air thickens around them and, god, all Adam wants is to pull Tommy close. Kiss him. Fuck him. Hard and biting. And then he wants to _love_ him.

Then, with them leaning towards each other, the moment is broken with the ringing of Adam's phone. They both jump apart and curse.

"This better be good," he snaps. "What? Yeah, were both up. Huh?"

He drags a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, okay. Totally forgot." Adam rolls his eyes, listening. "We'll be down in ten."

Ending the call, he looks at Tommy. "Terrance. We're supposed to be going out with them this afternoon."

"Yeah, okay." Tommy sounds about as thrilled with their plans as Adam is. "Guess I better go."

"Just shorts and shit. Apparently Neil found a boat for us to go out on."

"A boat. Okay." Tommy stops in the doorway connecting their rooms. "Adam?"

"Later, Tommy Joe," Adam replies. "If we aren't down there soon, they'll all be up here."

"Fuck," and then Tommy steps all the way into his room.

* ^V^ *

  
"So." Tommy, hair damp and sleep pants sticking to his moist skin, flops down on Adam's bed. "I'm thinking we need to talk about this."

Adam feels the blush stealing over his cheeks. Thanks so fucking much, red hair and fair skin. Focusing on his chipping polish – he's so avoiding looking at Tommy – he mutters, "Uh, okay."

"I kinda thought you were about to kiss me this morning."

Adam's gaze jerks from his hands to Tommy's face in record speed. Okay. This morning. Not this afternoon when Adam just kind of took over and made sure Tommy ate and put on sunblock and, in general, gave Terrance enough blackmail material to last months.

"Or maybe I was wrong."

"Huh? No." Adam shakes his head. Because, fuck... kissing Tommy, yeah, he's thought about it. "It crossed my mind."

Tommy arches a brow. "But..."

"But." Christ. Adam hates this kind of fucking talk. "Just because we _tart it up_," and yeah, that was drawn out and a tiny bit petulant, "on stage doesn't mean that you want me to start groping you at every turn. I'm… fuck, Tommy Joe, this tour has everything skewed and moving fast and what if..."

Tommy starts laughing. Not the oh-my-god how funny laughing but the you're-a-fucking-piece-of-work-Lambert kind of hysteria that usually precedes an all out fight.

"Jesus, fuck. Are you kidding me?" Tommy drags a hand through his hair and, after rolling his lips together, sighs softly. "Anyone else, Adam. _Anyone_ else and it would have stopped at hair pulling and leans. And if you can't see what is right in front of your stubborn fucking face..."

Adam leans in, brushes his lips across Tommy's cheek, down and over his jaw line. Because, yeah, that little display was totally consent to do this. "Hush, Tommy."

Tommy's lips quirk up and he murmurs, "Bossy, man."

"You have no idea." Then he's leaning in towards Tommy and Tommy's eyes are fluttering shut and they're kissing like they've been doing this for years, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle and Adam thinks, _fuck_, they really should have done this before now.

* ^V^ *

  
Adam slides a sandwich in front of Tommy, one with enough lettuce and tomatoes and low-fat turkey to at least help balance the bag of Cheetos Tommy claimed for his lunch. He doesn't say a word, just leaves the sandwich in front of Tommy and keeps walking, plopping down on the stairs next to Monte. "Hey, old man."

Monte rolls his eyes and bumps against Adam's shoulder. "Guessing you two talked, huh?"

"A bit." Adam's face softens when he looks over and finds Tommy standing with LP, taking bites of his sandwich and nodding while LP, arms swinging wide, explains something.

"And?"

"And what?" Adam flashes a mischievous grin.

"You're going to make me ask?" When Adam's grin grows into a smirk, Monte bumps him again and growls, "Jackass. Really, what's up with you two?"

"Don't know yet. Moving slow, feeling things out." Adam shrugs, his eyes wandering back over to Tommy. "But he's... he seems okay with..."

"With your ridiculously wide protective streak or the fact that you just tend to take over?"

Adam makes a face because sometimes the familiarity born of a shared history is a pain in the ass. "He hasn't complained about either of them."

"Yet. He hasn't complained yet. Just give him time." Monte shakes his head and adds, "I still say you two need to talk."

Adam sticks his tongue out at Monte and then, noticing Tommy's sandwich is gone, says, "Alright, people. Let's finish this off."

* ^V^ *

  
The heat in the venue is overwhelming. Two minutes in and Adam is drenched, his costumes sticking and chafing and all he wants is to get this show the fuck over. When they finally wrap the night with _Whole Lotta Love_ and file off stage, Adam isn't surprised that the rest of his crew is in the same wilted state.

Walking by Tommy, Adam thrusts the last of his water into Tommy's hands. "Drink."

Tommy cocks a brow but downs the final sips in one chug. "Signing?"

Adam looks down and sniffs, his nose wrinkling with distaste. "Yeah, but only after a shower."

Then, as they're walking towards Adam's dressing station, Tommy stumbles and bumps into first Adam and then the wall.

"Hey," Adam reaches out and grabs Tommy's shoulder. "You okay?"

Tommy shakes his head. Slowly. "Dizzy all of a sudden."

"Uh huh." Pulling Tommy into his side, Adam looks over, mouths the word _juice_ to Neil and then leads Tommy to the nearest flat surface. "Just sit here for a minute. Soon as I get this off," Adam taps lightly on the stones decorating his face, "we'll rinse off, okay?"

"I'm good now. I can just…"

"Sit there and wait."

Before Tommy can retort, Neil walks over with a bottle of juice and a package of peanut butter crackers. He pushes them both at Tommy. "Did you eat anything today?"

Cracking the juice open, Tommy takes a long pull before answering. "Some kind of sandwich during sound check."

Adam's hands stop moving, removing the glitz and glam of the show temporarily forgotten. "Sound check?"

"Yeah." Tommy looks up, their gazes meeting in the reflection of the mirror. "That's when you pushed that sandwich at me, right?"

"Fuck, Tommy." Adam shakes his head and goes back to freeing his face of the makeup. "That was hours ago. Eat those damn crackers."

He rushes through the rest of his regime, doing what he knows is a half-assed job of it. But his mind is on Tommy and on the fact that his bo... that _Tommy_ obviously needs someone to take care of him. As he drops the last makeup pad in the trash, his mind starts sketching a list. Rules and expectations and, Christ al-fucking-mighty, Monte was right. He has got to talk to Tommy and soon.

"Come on, Tommy Joe." Adam holds out a hand. "Let's get rinsed off so we can get on the bus sometime tonight."

"I really can walk in there by myself." Tommy pushes off the table and immediately sways into Adam. "Or not. Fuck."

Adam bites down on his lip and leads Tommy into the small bathroom, adjusting the water while Tommy strips down.

And Adam tries to just stay there, leaning against the counter and talking until Tommy is out. He tries to keep it in check. But he can't. Not tonight. Quickly, he peels out of his costume and slips into the shower behind Tommy. "Let me help."

Tommy opens his mouth and then, as Adam plucks the washcloth out of his hands, shuts it again. He braces his hands against the wall and, as Adam drags the soapy cloth over his back, Tommy sighs.

Adam works methodically, top to bottom, moving over Tommy's body and then his own briskly and efficiently, wishing for more. More time, more space. Just more.

Rinsing the last of the soap off, Adam steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist, and flicks another one open for Tommy. "Long hot one when the buses stop, okay?"

"Yeah." Tommy slides around Adam, a light blush working its way over his neck and face. "Thanks for, uh, well all of it."

"Anytime," Adam says with a grin.

Soon as they're both dressed in comfortable clothes – jeans and tees, and a hoodie for Tommy – Adam motions to the door. "Time to sign and then hit the road."

His laugh echoes when Tommy mutters, "Thank fuck. At least the bus has a/c."

* ^V^ *

  
Tommy slides into the booth across from Adam. "Where's my menu?"

"Waitress took 'em after she got the order," Monte replies, sipping slowly on his coffee. "Adam ordered..."

Monte doesn't get to finish before Tommy is growling across the table at Adam. "You ordered my breakfast."

Adam grunts without even looking up. "Um, yeah. You were in the restroom."

"Is this some new thing now?" Tommy cuts his eyes to Monte for a fraction and then goes back to glaring at Adam. "Kinda like that whole shower thing?"

Adam sets his phone to the side and settles all of his attention on Tommy. "Seeing as you almost passed out last night, maybe it should be. However, this time, it was only because you weren't here when the nice lady came by to take our order."

"Adam..."

"Wait 'til we're on the bus, Tommy Joe." After Tommy nods once and backs down, Adam picks up his phone and goes back to reading his Twitter feed, actively ignoring the fact that there's some serious talking to be done.

* ^V^ *

  
"My room." Adam whispers as Tommy falls in next to him. "I'll be back there soon as I can."

Tommy blinks slowly. "Yeah, okay," and then picks up his pace, leaving Adam walking with Monte.

Adam watches Tommy climb onto the bus and then, when Monte touches his arm, stops and turns.

"Tell me y'all are actually going to talk?"

Adam grimaces but nods in agreement. "I think it's time for that."

Monte smacks Adam lightly on the back of the head. "It was time for that a couple of weeks ago."

Adam rubs at the back of his head. "It was too soon then."

"Really? I'm thinking it's more that you're a chicken shit." Monte sighs and looks away, staring at the bus for a long minute. "I'm not telling you not to go this route, Adam. I know you. But I also know Tommy. And I'm telling you, that boy is going to buck you if for no other reason than general principal."

"Which is why it was too soon." Behind his sunglasses, Adam scowls at Monte. "May still be too soon."

Monte shakes his head. "Go. If he isn't in your room waiting, don't push it."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." And all Adam can think is Tommy damn well better be in his room.

* ^V^ *

  
Tommy is in Adam's room, propped against the headboard with his legs stretched out on the bed, socked feet flexing and releasing while his fingers drum out an erratic beat on his thigh. He looks up when Adam comes in. "Hey."

"Hey." A small smile turns at the corners of Adam's lips. Because, fuck, Tommy just went to Adam's room pretty as you please, and now he's looking somewhat contrite and somewhat pissy and somewhat embarrassed and he is _waiting for Adam_. The need to reward swells up in Adam like a tangible, living thing.

"So," Tommy peers up through the fall of blond hair, "was it really just because she showed up while I was in the restroom?"

Adam sits on the edge of the bed, reaching over to start his iPod playing quietly in the docking station and then taking his boots and socks off while he forms his answer. "This time, yeah. She showed up like right after you left. I knew what you wanted, so – "

"The orange juice was unexpected."

Adam shrugs. "Don't want you getting scurvy or some shit."

"Scurvy? Really?" Tommy's lips twitch into a grin. "You really are a freak."

Scooting over the bed, Adam pulls at Tommy's legs until Tommy slides down the mattress. He rolls until he's covering Tommy with his body, his arm cushioned on either side of Tommy's head. "This time it was because she showed up. Next time it may be because I just want to."

Tommy arches a brow. "This is like a thing with you, isn't it?"

His tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip, and then Adam answers. "You could say that."

"And how far are you gonna take it?"

Adam chokes back his first response: All the way to the end. Instead, he asks, "Does it bother you?"

"You asked me that before."

"Yeah, and you didn't answer me." Adam touches his forehead against Tommy's. "So, does it?"

"I dunno." Tommy looks away, and then, when Adam whispers his name, he turns back to Adam. "Maybe. I guess sometimes it's nice, but then other times, it's like..."

"Like?"

Tommy sighs. "Like you think I'm some kind of kid or something, not able to take care of myself."

"Never," Adam murmurs, leaning in to brush a chaste kiss across Tommy's lips. "More of a 'I like to take care of the people important to me in an all-encompassing way' thing. Things like making sure you eat, and that you get enough rest. I like know where you are and making sure that you're safe."

"And to do that usually means there are rules involved."

Adam shrugs but doesn't contradict him. Because, yeah, Tommy could do with some rules as far as Adam is concerned.

"And if I don't listen? I mean," and even with a blush staining his neck and face, Tommy keeps his eyes focused on Adam, "usually when there are rules, there are consequences. There's a list of people who can tell you I'm no good with shit like that."

"We'll see." Then changing the topic completely, Adam says, "We're going to be on the road for hours."

"Subtle, Lambert," Tommy laughs and rolls his eyes. "That supposed to mean something?"

"Brat," and Adam tugs a length of Tommy's hair. "But, yeah, hours on the boring tour bus, so I figured we could just lock ourselves away back here. Watch a movie, sleep..."

"Finally fuck?"

The breathy rasp off Tommy's voice has Adam's cock jerking.

"Jesus."

Their next kiss is nowhere near as chaste as the first one. It's all teeth and tongue, open air and sloppy wet and Tommy is arching up against Adam and Adam is grinding down and their dicks are pushing against each other through too many layers of denim. Tommy whines – all needy and high-pitched – and Adam groans, his fingers curling into Tommy's hair, twisting and pulling and _holding_ Tommy right where the fuck he wants him.

Then, panting, Adam pulls back and slides off the bed. He turns the lock on the door and then, staring intently at Tommy, says, "Strip."

Adam stands at the foot of his bed as Tommy peels of his t-shirt and jeans, his boxers and socks. Adam silently watches. Appreciates. _Wants._

He palms his cock through his jeans, making no move to release himself from the confines of the denim. "Such a pretty boy."

Tommy blushes and his eyes fall away from watching Adam.

"Nuh uh, Tommy Joe. Let me see them big brown eyes." He waits until Tommy is looking at him again, then Adam tugs his shirt off, pops the button on his jeans, smirking when heat flares in Tommy's eyes. "That's right, baby. Let me see you seeing me."

"Adam," Tommy growls, _growls_.

"Right here," he says, crawling onto the bed, up and over Tommy until he's covering him again, their bodies defying all logic and fitting together seamlessly.

And then Adam moves in, fast and sure, almost primal in his aggression. He kisses and licks and touches... oh, fuck, he touches. His hands drag over Tommy's arms and his fingers wrap around Tommy's wrists, tugging and pulling until Tommy's arms are stretched over his head and his back is arched and their hips are undulating and a sticky trail of precome smears between them.

Adam is moaning dirty, nasty, filthy things in Tommy's ear, filling the air with things like _gonna tie you down_ and _bruise you, bite you_…

Then Tommy starts to babble and grunt, "Jesus, fuck... Adam... _fuck_..."

...and between things like _just wanna mark your pretty skin_ and _let the world see that you're mine_, Adam bites down on the meaty flesh of Tommy's shoulder and his hands squeeze tight around Tommy's wrists...

"_God_fuckingdammit," and Tommy's body goes tight as his dick jerks and his hips rock once, twice, and then once more as he comes apart, a mess of jizz and sweat decorating his abdomen.

...and Adam slides his dick through the hot slick and with a groaning _yeah_ comes.

Panting, Adam brushes a trail of kisses along Tommy's forehead and cheeks, his thumbs rubbing slow circles over the pulse points in Tommy's wrists, just holding on until Tommy's pulse slows to something closer to normal. "Arms okay, baby?"

A tiny little smile forms and Tommy slurs, "'M good."

Finally, their breathing back to normal, Adam rolls to the side of the bed and then disappears into the bathroom, returning moments later with a hot, damp washcloth. He wipes Tommy clean, muttering, "Swear to fuck, next hotel I'm running a bath and doing this the right way."

* ^V^ *

  
They're leaving the stage, all of them high on performance adrenaline, and Adam, in a bid to not leave Tommy on a dark stage, leans in and smacks him on his ass. "Let's go, Tommy Joe."

Tommy looks over his shoulder and grins. "There are better times to be smacking me on my ass, Lambert."

Adam arches one brow and then breaks out in laughter. "Oh, Tommy boy, you don't know what you just started."

"I'm thinkin' he might," Monte snorts.

Adam opens his eyes wide, acting silly and mischievous, and retorts, "You think you know my boy better than I do? Don't think so, Pittman."

Then Adam rushes up behind Tommy and, wrapping him in a bear hug, steers them both into his dressing room.

"Monte knows, huh?" Tommy asks as the door shuts.

Adam shrugs out of his costume and then starts the task of removing his makeup. "He's known me for like ever. He knows how I am."

Tommy fingers the buttons running down the center of his shirt. "So, that whole 'my boy' thing out there..."

"Hey," Adam turns and rests a hip against the counter, and, reaching out, he stills Tommy's fingers, twining them through with his own. "He knows how _I_ am. Not how we are. It's not like I tell him shit. He's just always been around..."

"So he has an idea."

"He thinks he does. He thinks he has many ideas." Adam gives Tommy a lopsided grin. "And most of them start with how I should talk to you more."

Tommy huffs a short burst of laughter. "Yeah, okay. He might be right about that one."

"You know," Adam starts walking them towards the shower, "if you ever need to talk to someone, you know, about me or us or this, Monte, well, he'd be up for it."

Tommy opens his mouth, snaps it shut, and then opens it again. "He'd be better than Mia, I guess."

Then they're in the tiny fiber glass stall, water is coming down around them, and it's too cramped to really get the job done. But Adam is washing Tommy slowly, dragging the cloth over arms and shoulders, down his spine and over his ass. It's more – more touching, more sensual, more _knowing_ – but it was still nowhere near enough.

And when he bumps his elbow on the wall, Adam mutters, "Thank fuck we've got a hotel night coming up soon."

* ^V^ *

  
Adam leaves a pair of new boots in the spot usually reserved for Tommy's creepers. He doesn't say anything to Tommy, because, really, if one set of shoes disappears and another takes their place the conclusion should be rather obvious: wear the new shoes.

Except that Adam forgets that this is Tommy and that Tommy is stupidly attached to his creepers.

And when the show opens and Adam sees Tommy wearing a pair of creepers, stacked higher than the ones Adam hid on the bus, the entire energy of the concert shifts. Immediately.

What is usually fierce and flamboyant with sex filling up the spaces becomes blatantly sexual and domineering..

He strokes Tommy shamelessly during the opening medley. His fingers are unyielding, digging in through the layers of Tommy's costuming and into the tender flesh of Tommy's arms. And his back, and his ass, and, when Adam drapes his arm over Tommy's shoulder, even his chest.

Adam feels the minute it crosses from _show_-time to _real_-time for Tommy. And he hopes to fuck someone caught it on film. Because he hasn't seen that look on Tommy's face enough yet to be tired of it or bored with it. Adam doesn't know if it's even possible to grow accustomed to such pretty surrender.

Then, in _Fever_, with Tommy still dancing along the edges of giving in and giving up, Adam slips his hand around Tommy's throat, his thumb pressing into just beneath Tommy's jaw while his fingers spread and hold him tight. And when Tommy's eyes drop shut, Adam takes possession of his mouth, tongue sliding in between lips and teeth and then under Tommy's tongue, stroking once before Adam pulls away and, beneath the crazy roar of the crowd, whispers, "Mine."

Tommy's eyes tell the story, wide and blown and damn near wanton with the desire riding just below the surface.

Adam works at keeping him there, so close to desperate that Tommy forgets the crowd and pushes back into Adam's every touch, all night, and whenever there is a big enough break in the song or the crowd is screaming at max capacity, Adam takes advantage and murmurs, "Mine."

And then, in the broken chorus of _Whole Lotta Love_, Tommy replies. "Yours."

* ^V^ *

  
"Showering?" Tommy asks as soon as they hit backstage.

"Not here," and Adam grips the back of Tommy's neck and heads straight to Sutan's side. "Just the makeup. It's a hotel night and I'm pretty sure even a Motel 6 has bigger showers than this place."

"And a whole lot more hot water," Sutan adds, carefully removing the sparkling stones around Adam's eyes.

Adam chuckles. "Hedonist."

Sutan rolls his eyes and looks pointedly at Tommy. "I'm not the waterbaby. That would be your boy over there."

Tommy blushes to his roots and then, pushing off the table, says, "I'm gonna go ahead and sign."

Sutan and Adam both watch Tommy slip through the venue doors, one of the beefy drivers right behind him, and then Sutan snorts dramatically, "Skittish little shit."

Adam cracks up. Because, really, if Sutan could see how responsive Tommy is in bed, how bossy and downright mulish he can be, he'd realize that Tommy isn't skittish at all. He just isn't into the group thing.

And Adam kind of likes that about Tommy. Likes how the moans and the sighs and the _trust_ belong to him alone.

* ^V^ *

  
They tumble through the hotel room door – not a Motel 6, thank you very much– and, with Adam leading the way, go straight into the bathroom. As he starts adjusting the water and emptying the carryall of soap and shampoo, Adam catches Tommy's reflection in the mirror. "Stop. Let me tonight, Tommy Joe."

Tommy's hands drop from his belt and hang limply at his sides. "Why?"

Adam shrugs and, setting a variety of products in the shower, turns to Tommy and says, "Cause it's what I want."

He watches a stubborn glint appear in Tommy's eyes and then, with his arms crossed over his chest and eyebrow cocked, waits until it fades. Then he drops to a crouch in front of Tommy and taps his foot, slipping the creeper off as soon as Tommy bends his knee and lifts his foot inches off the floor.

"Funny," Adam lets Tommy's foot fall to the floor and motions for the other one, repeating the process of removing his shoe, "these don't look anything like the boots I bought for you."

Tommy's ballsy, defiant glare returns. "I like my creepers."

"And I like the boots."

Tommy shrugs and looks away. "I'm used to them, used to moving in them."

"When you break something in these," and Adam waves the black creepers once before tossing them out of the bathroom, "you'll be lucky if I don't spank your ass for not listening."

Tommy's eyes go wide. "You wouldn't?"

Adam huffs, kicking his own boots out into the hallway. "Try me, Tommy Joe, and find out. I do have my limits."

Then the conversation is over and Adam is stripping them both out of their clothes with practiced ease. "Now come on," he grabs Tommy's hand and tugs, "I've been fucking jonesing for a shower this big."

Tommy shakes his head and laughs. "And Sutan thinks I'm the waterbaby? Only if he really knew."

Adam gives Tommy that one. Because, yeah, Tommy moans like a whore when the hot water first hits him, but Adam? Adam has been draining hot water tanks since he was fourteen. But then they're under the pulsing spray and Tommy has his head dropped back with the length of his neck exposed and Adam starts a mental countdown.

Three... two... one... and Tommy's eyes close and then, lips falling apart, he purrs, deep and throaty and echoing off the tiled walls.

Adam stands back and watches. Takes in the sight of Tommy letting go one layer at a time. Moving slowly, he presses in tight behind Tommy. "Lean back, baby. Let me do this."

Tommy stays stiff for two heartbeats and then let's go and _melts_ into Adam. "Yeah, okay."

The scent of vanilla and nutmeg fill the air as Adam massages shampoo into Tommy's scalp, slowly raising a mess of frothy suds and then, nails digging lightly over Tommy's head, rinsing them away. Bussing his lips over Tommy's neck, he murmurs, "Good boy."

Then Adam starts working his way lower, the washcloth slides over Tommy's chest and abdomen, grazes just the head of his erect cock and then falls, abandoned to the floor of the shower as Adam replaces the weight of the water-soaked cotton with the feathery glide of his hands.

He pinches and scratches, watching as color blossoms and goes from the white of impact to a deeper pink, standing out against the flush caused from the hot water. "Beautiful."

"Jesus," Tommy says in a barely there whisper, and then fidgets, moves towards Adam's roving hands and then back against the solid form of Adam's body.

Adam taps Tommy on the thigh. "Be still now."

He adds more body wash to his palm and reaches down, combing and then rubbing through the dark thatch of hair at the base of Tommy's cock. "Soon as we get a break, gonna shave you bare. Gonna spend hours just tasting you."

Tommy bites his lip and then, gasping in a harsh breath, says, "Adam, I need... You gotta.... _fuck_..."

Shifting to Tommy's side, Adam draws one hand over Tommy's spine, teases with his fingers at the cleft of Tommy's ass, while the other rolls Tommy's sac and flitters over his cock. "What, Tommy Joe? What do you need?"

"You."

Adam pulls his hand away from Tommy's dick and a guttural objection reverberates around them.

"Shush, baby." Adam picks up his pace minutely, but keeps his touch light and soothing, teasing every one of Tommy's nerve endings into a state of full blown awareness. Adam nips Tommy on the shoulder, "I'll get you there."

Tommy rolls his head to the side, nuzzles against Adam's chest. "Want you in me when you do."

Adam's dick throbs and his body fills completely with an overwhelming need. "Fuck, Tommy Joe. The things you do to me."

And then they're stepping out of the shower and Adam is wrapping Tommy in a fluffy white towel and twisting one haphazardly around his own waist and they're kissing each other and stumbling through the room to the bed and, good living fuck, Adam feels like he's seventeen again and has no control over his dick whatsoever.

* ^V^ *

  
Adam presses Tommy into the mattress, his arms high and his legs spread wide. And, with Tommy so close to blown wide open, to tumbling over the edge they've been playing around all night, Adam tries to remember why he thought it would be a bad idea, a waste of space to bring a few of his toys along. "Don't move."

Tommy blinks once, then blinks again. Then he nods and, as he curls his fingers over the edge of the mattress, softly says, "Won't let go."

"Gimme a word, Tommy Joe. Something that'll end this instantly." Not that Adam plans on Tommy needing to safeout; however, he learned a long time ago to start as he meant to go. And this is totally how he means to go.

Swallowing once, Tommy says, "Krueger."

"Got it." Adam's lips twitch and, tracing a finger over the blackline of Tommy's horror tats, he repeats the name. Then, hovering over Tommy, their breaths mingling together, he asks, "Ready, baby?"

And when Tommy nods, sighs a breathy _fuck, yeah_, Adam attacks. Literally.

His hands clamp down on Tommy's hips, fingers digging in hard and tight and Adam knows there will be bruises given a few hours. And his mouth latches onto the tender skin just beneath Tommy's collarbone, sucking and biting until, when Adam draws his head back, there's a deep purple mark forming. Because there is no way Tommy is leaving this bed without bearing Adam's mark come morning.

None what-so-fucking-ever.

When Adam is riding high, caught in the rush of the headspace, Tommy's silence breaks and he whimpers and whines and begs like a pro. And it only pushes Adam higher, until there is nothing but the buzz of white noise and the hectic racing of his heart and the tiny gasping sounds that keep pouring out of Tommy and Adam has to get in Tommy _right the fuck now_.

He spills lube over his fingers and, his clean hand skirting over the rumpled sheets for the condom, Adam sinks one finger into Tommy's ass. No pause. No hesitation. One push, knuckles deep.

Tommy's foot kicks out, losing its shaky stronghold on the bed, and his thighs tremble. But when he opens his mouth the only thing that comes out is a choking sob of _more_.

There's no way Adam's ignoring that.

He works in a second and then a third finger. Too close together to be comfortable but far enough apart if the grunting urges that Tommy keeps spilling are any indication. Adam's going with what Tommy is saying, because, yeah, _right the fuck now_ was fucking too many minutes ago.

Then he's rolling the condom on and pushing Tommy's legs up and back and, with a kiss to Tommy's calf, Adam rocks into Tommy and they both curse... _groan..._ sigh.

Adam's sure it has never fucking felt like this before. Never this right, this goddamn perfect. His lips brush against Tommy's leg again, only this time Adam's stops, holds them there, burning the taste and feel of Tommy into his brain. And when he comes – much too soon to be appreciated fully – he bites down, marking Tommy just as surely as Tommy has marked him.

* ^V^ *

  
Adam wakes up long before Tommy. Not surprising when he knows how wrecked Tommy was the night before. With a soft grin, Adam traces the scratches along Tommy's back, the dark hickeys scattered all over, and the bite mark on Tommy's shoulder.

Adam remembers sucking the bruises up, teasing the skin with teeth and tongue and working to see just how dark he could mark Tommy. And the scratches were a game of give and take, shared between the two of them, because the sting and pull in Adam's back guarantees that Tommy left a mark or two of his own.

His fingers ghost over the bite again. He doesn't remember this. This perfect ring of his teeth, imprinted deep in Tommy's skin. That it happened in an onslaught of _yes_ and _fuck_ as he was coming is pretty much a given. He's willing to bet it was that last time, when the sun was coming up and everything was so fucking slow and easy, just gentle rocking together until he was just _there_, ambushed by a cresting wave of need and now and all he could do was hold on.

And because he doesn't remember it, because it is a ridiculously cliché heat of the moment thing, it fascinates Adam. Draws him in like a siren's call.

"Morning," Tommy whispers, face mashed into his pillow and back arching into Adam's touch.

"Hmmm, afternoon." Adam looks over at the clock. Hours. They still have a couple of hours before they need to leave. Rolling in tight against Tommy, he drags his lips over the bite. "How you feeling?"

"Good. Real damn good," and he snuggles down into the bed. "I wanna just stay here."

"Can't, baby." Adam kisses Tommy's shoulder again. "Gotta shower and eat before we leave. Come on, time to get up."

Tommy sighs but doesn't argue. He just follows Adam out of the bed and says, "Can we not have juice this morning? I promise I won't get scurvy or some shit."

Adam doesn't answer him. But when there's orange juice with breakfast Tommy frowns and wrinkles his nose. He drinks without comment, then chases it with two glasses of water and more coffee. Then, casting a challenging look at Adam, Tommy slips his creepers on before they leave.

Adam groans and shuts the door behind them. Tommy Joe is going to be the death of him.

* ^V^ *

  
This time is different from before. Tommy is awake, answering the paramedics' questions and wincing as they finger the jagged cut running up Tommy's arm. Adam's not lashing out blindly or shaking.

But it's kind of the same. Because there's blood and ambulances and Tommy needing a fucking _hospital_. At least no one tries to stop Adam from matching pace with the gurney this time.

And in a matter of minutes, less than a half-hour, they're in a small room and Tommy has twenty-six stitches, _twenty-fucking-six_, holding his arm together and the doctor is giving care instructions and signing discharge papers.

Adam stands by quietly, his mouth clamped shut into a thin line. He has to work at keeping his mouth shut, because if he does anything more than listen to the doctor and keep focused on the words, he's going to throttle Tommy Joe. Right after he tans his ass but fucking good.

No, he's not freaking out this time. He's not worried and he's not scared. But he is pissed.

Pissed at himself and at Tommy. Tommy for being so goddamned stubborn and himself for letting Tommy be so goddamned stubborn. Over a pair of fucking shoes.

He hates the fact that he was right. Because he really didn't want to be right in this. He didn't want Tommy to trip on those fucking ridiculous shoes and fall. He didn't want Tommy hurt because of some piece of equipment cutting through his costume and into his arm.

Adam would have gladly been wrong on this one. But he wasn't.

"Eight concerts." It's the first thing that tumbles out as soon as they're on the bus and alone.

"Huh?"

Adam repeats it. He knows it's been eight concerts since he fucking told Tommy to lose the creepers because he counted on his way to the goddamn hospital. While Tommy's blood just freaking gushed out of his arm. "I wanted those gone eight concerts ago."

Tommy's eyes close. "Fuck."

"Not tonight, Tommy," Adam replies, pretending to misunderstand the curse as a request. "Be happy you're even sleeping back here with me."

Tommy blanches and Adam has to curl his fingers inward to keep from reaching out and petting him. "Let's get some sleep. We've got four hours before meds are due."

Silently Adam strips down and crawls between the sheets, rolling over and facing the back bus wall as Tommy undresses and slides in next to him.

"Consequences," Tommy whispers.

"Indeed."

* ^V^ *

  
They're all a little bit high and whole lot drunk. And not just because it's the 50th performance of the GlamNation tour. But because a little bit of weed and whole lot of liquor kills the pain in Tommy's arm enough for him to play and it helps bank Adam's urges to either spank the little fucker for not listening or to wrap Tommy in cotton wool and send him back to the bus. Monte is just along for the ride.

Adam thinks something is off in the opening medley. The size difference between him and Tommy isn't what he's used to onstage but it isn't the same as when they're naked and in the shower either. But he's still a little put out with Tommy and, really, what good are consequences if Adam caves too soon? So he keeps singing and going through the motions of the performance.

It literally takes until _Fever_ for Adam to hone in on the fact that Tommy is wearing boots. Not the boots he'd bought for him, but low-heeled, pointed-toe, solid black boots. And then it's only because he looks down when he should be looking up. He jerks back, almost steps away, and looks at Tommy. Tommy nods once and a small smile tilts the edges of his mouth. The type of smile that Tommy usually keeps separate from the image of rocker bassist.

_Holy fucking hell._

The rest of the night is a blur. There's rubbing and grinding and Adam bends his knees a little deeper to fit with this new stage-sized Tommy. And then it's time for band intros and they're all long past fucked-up and well on their way to shit-faced and all Adam wants is to kiss the living shit out of Tommy...

"He likes girls. But he..." Adam looks at Tommy, tries to give him some type of silent warning, "But he likes this too."

The crowd falls apart and, in the background, Monte chokes and snorts, Cam cat-calls while LP whistles loud over the beat of drums. And Tommy? Tommy melts into the kiss, takes all of Adam's desire and want and possessiveness, and wallows in it. Then, as Adam starts to draw back, Tommy lets his knees fold and plays it all up for the crowd.

* ^V^ *

  
"Kitty pen?" Tommy leans back against Adam's chest, his hands pushing slowly through the steaming bath water. "You blew up Twitter with that."

Adam giggles. "Yeah, pretty much."

They go quiet, relaxing into the heat of the water.

"Thank you."

Tommy shrugs. "Should have listened the first time. Instead I've got stitches and my brain aches almost as much as my arm and I disappointed…" He shrugs again as he lets the words trail off. "Just should've listened."

"Yeah, well, stubborn is like your default. We'll keep working on it." Adam gently drags a finger near the line of stitches and then, shifting direction, moves to the fading bite mark on Tommy's shoulder, pushing against the bruise until Tommy arches. "How do you feel?"

"Cared for." Settling back against Adam, Tommy hums, a deep, rumbling sound of satisfaction, then quietly, almost hesitantly adds, "Wanted. _Owned._"

Adam's lips twitch. Not the question he was asking. But he likes Tommy's interpretation better.

"You?"

Pressing a kiss into Tommy's hair, Adam says, "About the same."

* ^V^ * ^V^ *


End file.
